On the evening of January 7, one year to the day after wildfires ignited across Malibu, Pacific Palisades, and Altadena, Los Angeles looked skyward not in fear, but in remembrance.
From the center of Palisades Village, three beams of light rose into the night. Distinct at first, they gradually merged into one - an intentional act of symbolism honoring three communities forever changed by fire, and three forces required to rebuild: reflection, gratitude, and hope.
The beams were visible across the city, cutting cleanly through darkness that once carried smoke. They marked not just an anniversary, but a turning point—an invitation to pause, to honor loss honestly, and to imagine what could still rise.
For Rick Caruso, the evening was both communal and deeply personal.
“I believe you need to have all your bases covered,” Caruso said, referencing the two spiritual leaders who stood beside him—Monsignor Torgerson of Santa Monica and Rabbi Zushi. “They’ve given me great strength and inspiration. But ultimately, it’s the people who bring back the community.”
Caruso spoke candidly about why the lights would not shine for just a few nights.
Originally planned for three days, the tribute was extended after a conversation with his son, Alex.
“He reminded me the fires didn’t end on January 7,” Caruso said. “They weren’t extinguished until January 31. So we decided the lights should stay on every night until then.”
From January 7 through January 31, the beams will rise nightly—mirroring the full duration of the fires themselves. Not a symbolic shortcut, but a truthful one.
“This is a moment for reflection,” Caruso said. “A moment for celebration. And a moment for hope. Because despite everything, this remains a great community.”
Monsignor Torgerson opened the ceremony with a prayer rooted in rebuilding—not just structures, but spirit.
“God of new beginnings, lift us,” he said. “From ashes, bring wisdom. From loss, bring resolve. From what’s broken, shape something deeper and more humane.”
His words echoed through a crowd still navigating displacement, insurance battles, and the long emotional tail of disaster.
“Remind us,” he continued, “that hope still finds a way upward. And as we rebuild, may we not only restore what was lost, but rediscover who we are. May we move forward together, with unity, courage, and hope.”
The prayer landed softly, yet firmly less a conclusion than a charge.
Rabbi Zushi followed with reflections that bridged faith, realism, and optimism.
“We are all one family fully connected,” he said. “This has been such a challenging year for all of us.”
Drawing from wisdom traditions, he noted that after fire, communities often emerge changed, but not diminished.
“When we go through dark and challenging moments,” he said, “we are blessed with new wisdom, new insight, and new perspective.”
He spoke candidly about recovery—acknowledging both spiritual and practical realities, even referencing insurance as part of the long road back—before returning to what he called the unmistakable energy of unity that had emerged.
“There is no question,” Rabbi Zushi said, “this community is going to shine in the most spectacular way - an example not just for Los Angeles, but for the universe.”
Then came a moment of surprise.
Rabbi Zushi paused, smiled, and reminded the crowd that the ceremony was taking place on Caruso’s birthday.
“Every day in life is a gift,” he said. “But your birthday is the day God says: your life matters.”
Turning toward Caruso, he offered a blessing—for joy, peace, and new possibilities—and for continued blessings for Caruso, his wife Tina, and their family.
The crowd responded not with formality, but warmth—an acknowledgment that leadership, when rooted in service, is deeply human.
As the ceremony concluded, Caruso stepped forward and ignited the beams.
“These lights are about pushing away darkness and sadness,” he said. “They’re about finding reasons to celebrate—even in the face of challenge—and seeing possibilities that didn’t exist before.”
He spoke of the future, too. “We look forward to many more celebrations in this center,” he said. “Many more chances to help each other and make a difference.”
Then he made a promise- one he has repeated often over the past year.
“We are going to be here until the bitter end,” Caruso said. “We will stand by you.”
As the beams converged into a single column of light, people stood quietly. Some held hands. Others wiped away tears. No music played. No countdown followed, just light steady, intentional, and rising.
For the next several weeks, the beams will continue to climb into the Los Angeles sky each night, offering a place to remember, to grieve honestly, and to hope without apology.
In a city shaped by reinvention, the message was clear:
After fire, light still leads the way.
By Michelle Edgar, Special to the Daily Press